


Stradivari

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I'm so sorry, I've just been so busy, Is this good?, Mycroft loves his baby brother, Well - Freeform, but anyways, fluff with a bit of a burn, is it fluff???, it's been so long since my last fanfic, just a little fluff, just a short oneshot before season 4, my oneshots never really get any kudos, you know before season four kills us all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9116764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Just a little Mycroft fluff about violins and Sherlock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry to all of my lovely dedicated "fans". I've meant to post more because I have a ton of prompts and chapters written in docs or on paper, but I've just been so busy and tired. This should get me back into the writing world. Love ya all <3! 
> 
> p.s. If you have some free-time I would highly recommend looking at Starry-Eyed-Watson's fics and works. She's honestly the best writer I've ever had the pleasure of being friends with and I would love it if y'all would spread a little love to her! <3

Mycroft stared in the shop window at the carefully crafted ebony violin sitting in its case. He remembered when he first gave Sherlock a violin. He remembered the look of pure joy and excitement on Sherlock’s face when he spotted the hard case in Mycroft’s hands, but he remembered the look of utter betrayal when Sherlock spotted the suitcase by the door. 

_His parting gift to Sherlock._

Sherlock wouldn’t touch it after Mycroft left. He wouldn’t even go near it for months. Until one day Mummy and looked at the violin’s spot and noticed it was missing. 

Sherlock had grown up with the violin, self-teaching himself mostly, but now and then he would pick up a private tutor. The violin, in a lot of ways, ended up replacing Mycroft within Sherlock’s heart, and Mycroft knew he most likely wouldn’t ever get the spot back. 

Sherlock played when he was upset, or stressed, or just needed to slow his mind down and think. He would play for hours at a time and he would seem to melt into another world with the music. It was the only time when Sherlock could truly be at peace.

Mycroft walked into the little music store and pretended to look around for a bit. The store was nice, small but comfortable. A young man sat on a stool behind the counter and played his violin absentmindedly. He had curly brown hair that was lightly slicked back and greenish blue looking eyes. Mycroft slipped back to the window display and carefully took the case down and studied the violin sitting inside. 

“You play?”

Mycroft almost dropped the violin when he heard the voice almost right next to his ear. He turned and looked at the man from behind the counter and shook his head. “My younger brother does.”

Mycroft turned back to the case to show the employee that he was finished with the conversation but the young man continued on. “It’s good quality. However, if he needs it for an orchestra or symphony then you should probably look at some of the older models.”

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders and ran his finger down the smooth wood of the violin. It had obviously been used before and the man was right. He’d probably get a better sound and life out of an older violin but for some reason Mycroft knew that this was the violin for Sherlock. It was slightly used and worn down but if given the chance it would shine and give the most beautiful sound. 

“My name’s Victor, by the way. Victor Trevor.”

Mycroft closed the case and picked it up. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“So you’re gonna by it?”

Mycroft nodded and moved past Victor to the register. “Is your father here?”

“Oh, no. He kicked me out months ago. This is my shop.” Victor walked behind the counter and moved his violin back to the case. He began ringing up the violin. “The strings are pretty old, would you like some new ones? I can give you a twenty percent discount.”

Mycroft nodded and pulled out his wallet. He hadn’t prepared for this so he’d have to pay with his credit card. Anthea wouldn’t be happy but hopefully Sherlock will be. 

Mycroft picked up the case and started to walk out, but he turned right before he left and looked at Victor. “Do you offer violin lessons?”

Victor looked up from his phone and nodded. He slid his phone in his back pocket and scrawled his number and address on a piece of paper. “Call me here and we can discuss prices.” He grinned and handed Mycroft the paper, “Thank you for your business, Mr Holmes.” 

Mycroft nodded and walked out of the shop. He hailed a cab and climbed in with the violin, telling the cabbie where to go before he drifted back to his thoughts. 

_He remembered a time when he came home for the holidays and was so excited to see him that he ran down the stairs from his room and jumped into Mycroft’s arms. He was followed quickly by his dog, Redbeard. That had been a good Christmas. Mummy baked biscuits and scones while Mycroft watched Sherlock deduce every present under the tree. Sherlock was more excited about deducing the presents than he was about actually opening them._

_The smell of chocolate chip cookies and eggnog flooded Mycroft’s senses once more. He loved that Christmas. It was one of the last though._

_As Mycroft got more involved with college and his government he found himself unable to get away as often as he used to and his visits became shorter and shorter until they ceased. He would send cards and gifts and call when he could but it was never enough for Sherlock, and as he grew up he found methods of coping._

_Of course, none of them were agreeable._

_First he ditched his ginger curls and dyed his hair black as the midnight sky. He began smoking and drinking. The drinking didn’t stick but the smoking only progressed. As he got used to smoking and wanted more he turned to harder drugs. He became a regular user of cocaine and morphine. Cocaine to “speed up and heighten” his thought process and morphine to “slow down and calm” his heart and mind after the cocaine._

_As soon as Mycroft found out, he was on his way home. He arrived and waited up all night for Sherlock to come home but he received a text a little before two in the morning from Sherlock. It included his location and a note begging for his older brother._

_Mycroft didn’t realize how bad the drug use had gotten until he walked into the crack house. Men and women just laying around on mattresses on the floor. Each one calling out a different name. He looked around for his ginger haired brother but couldn’t find him. He started to walk out when a greasy black haired teenager rolled over and connected eyes with Mycroft._

_“Sherlock…”_

_His eyes were the same color as always, but nothing else about Sherlock remained the same. He was older and taller and skinnier and stronger. He looked sick. Mycroft sat by the mattress and touched Sherlock’s cheek, brushing the hair from his face._

_“Oh, little brother, what have you taken? We’ll need a list.”_

“Sir? We’re here.”

The Cabbie’s words broke through Mycroft’s thoughts and Mycroft wondered how long they’d been sitting there. He passed money up to the cabbie and climbed out of the cab at the residential facility. 

He carried the case to the front door and buzzed the intercom and told the guards who he was and who he needed to visit. The gates opened and Mycroft walked inside the beautiful facility. Men and women of all ages walked around and visited each other outside, but Mycroft had no reason to stop and look, he knew exactly where Sherlock would be. 

He walked inside the cold metal building and walked up three flights of stairs and down the long hallway to the room he knew as Sherlock’s. He knocked softly and heard a small voice grumble “go away” from somewhere inside. He tried the doorknob and let himself into the small room. 

Books and newspaper articles were spread all over the floor from where Sherlock had been trying to solve a cold case. 

“I need more information. I need to interview them myself. Police never ask the right questions.”

Mycroft cleared his throat and watched the young man he once knew as his younger brother crawl out from under the bed and look up. “Mycroft. What are you doing here?”

Mycroft suddenly realized that he didn’t know what to say. Random acts of kindness had never been his strong suit and now he’s standing in front of his brother with a new violin and no idea what to say. 

“I..I saw it in the window and thought you could use a new one since you don’t have access to your old one.”

Sherlock’s eyes slowly slid down Mycroft’s body and land on the violin case. He frowned and creased his eyebrows, as if trying to figure something out. “Is this some kind of blackmail?”

Mycroft looked down and laid the case on the edge of Sherlock’s bed. “No. I just thought you might like it. I can always take it back if you don’t want it.”

Sherlock quickly stood and shook his head. “No. I’ll take it.” He walked over to the case and looked to Mycroft for permission before touching it. Mycroft nodded and Sherlock knelt by the case and carefully opened it. 

He hesitantly picked the violin up and placed it against his shoulder, feeling its weight. He took it off and admired its true beauty. His hands trembled slightly as he placed it back in the case and turned to bury his tears into his brother’s shirt.


End file.
